Catalyst (Book 1): Decay Chains (14 page)

She gripped the phone tighter and tried to swing around, away from the computer screen. A cord attached her to the computer, and trapped her next to Ian, who saw no reason to give her any pretense of privacy. He leaned his chair back and pilfered the Internet for news about Reamer Towers to feed Eva.

“I worry about you, dear,” Eva said.

“I know you do, I just don’t know why.”

“You always make me feel like an overprotective biddy when you say that.”

Stormy pictured her mother’s smile, warm and full-bodied, just like the rest of her. Her thoughts flashed and she scribbled them down on a yellow legal pad. Yet another question that Ian would shrug his shoulders at. Would Oahu be safe? What about medical supplies? Cut off from mainland after apoc?

For now, it was best for her mother to stay put, but her diabetes wouldn’t stay at bay if she ran out of insulin. Stormy didn’t want to panic, so she set the awful thought on the back burner. All afternoon, projected issues of the same intensity surfaced. The end of days was messy as hell no matter how much of a lead she had on it.

“Mom, I have to let you go, but listen. I will check in like I promised. Just do me one more favor, okay?”

“Of course dear, anything.”

“Get your doctor to prescribe you a six month supply of your insulin.”

“What on Earth for?”

“Just in case.” Stormy trailed off, trying to find an excuse. Ian jotted down the words that would save her on his legal pad.

“I heard there is a shortage, something about a contaminated batch.” She tripped through the words. Ian’s writing made for rough deciphering. “Did you see the news?”

“Oh. I’ll call Dr. Kala later today. When did you start watching the damn news?”

“I walked past the TV and saw the segment. Got to run. Love you.” She soaked up Eva’s voice as she said goodbye and prayed it wouldn’t be that last time she heard it.

She’s been there three years. It would’ve taken you one day to get on a damn plane.             

Her sister was less understanding from the get-go. Something about Misty’s self-appointment as the responsible one made her believe she had to be sour for the rest of eternity. Stormy’s out right refusal to accept that crock of shit didn’t help close the rift. Just because Misty settled down first didn’t mean she won the race. There was no damn race.

“Someone called here for you yesterday,” Misty said. “Hang on, I have the note here somewhere—”

Why would someone call her house for me when she lives two states away? The scribbling hit an all time high.
Commence cover up operations.
Ink smeared across Ian’s hand as it flew across the legal pad. She hated that this had become dangerous for everyone she knew, but didn’t see how she could undo it, even if she wanted to.

“They said it was important. Hang on.”

“No. It’s okay. They left me a message too.” It was hard to make up normal alibis. Messages were trivial, their underlying warnings weren’t.

It was even harder to sound interested in the mundane details of her sister’s life when Misty’s biggest concern was which timeshare to visit in the spring. Stormy wasn’t even sure she would see the spring. Guilt chased relief all throughout her body as she gave up and handed the phone to Josh.

“Your rent’s late.” That was Josh’s father’s way of saying hello.

Josh spent the next thirty seconds outlining the situation. He was halfway through his schpeel when his father cut him off. “Again with this? Well, it’s not aliens this time. That’s a relief, I guess.”

“Dad, I’m serious. I can email you proof.”

“If the world doesn’t end, you can have a rent extension. If it does, well, I guess don’t worry about it.”

Stormy choked on her laugh. She wanted to hug Josh for taking the call on speakerphone.

“Thanks Dad. I really appreciate it.” Josh rolled his eyes. “By the way, I moved out last night.”

“Didn’t see you pack anything, son. When’d you come in?”

“I’m good. But seriously, consider relocating for a while, okay?”

Josh turned a tiny screwdriver over in his hand as he spoke. His thoughts were fixated on a hard drive he ached to dismantle.

“The flu outbreak at Reamer is going to end the world. Got it.” His father muffled the phone and talked to someone in the background. It sounded like he was at work.

“Exactly. Oh, and Dad, don’t answer calls from the car insurance company, okay?”

“What did you—never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Josh said goodbye briskly and then spent the next twenty minutes talking to his mother, who he definitely took after in all ways. A dinner at his house would be rife with unintended comedy. She didn’t take his advice either, but was clearly more concerned about him than his father. Her voice carried disappointment when he told her he moved out.

Ian didn’t put the phone on speaker, but he didn’t have to. His mother could be heard from ten feet in every direction. “Did you do something illegal or is this one of Josh’s conspiracy theories?”

“Really, Mom?” Ian said.

“I guess I have my answer.”

“So do I.”

“I just hope you’re not responsible for this mess. It’s all over the news and I had to evacuate last night. I’m at your aunt’s. It’s unbearable.”

They spoke for a few minutes about the holidays. Ian led on like he would be there just as he had every year, without a date. Then he begged her not to surprise him with one like she had the year before. The whole tone of the conversation improved before he disconnected, but judging by the look on his face, the call had worn him out.

Stan wanted to check on his sister Candice, but she wouldn’t answer her phone. “She uses Google Hangouts a lot. Can you hijack her webcam or something?”              

“Don’t insult me,” Josh said.

Curiosity took hold. The guys wanted to see if Josh could actually hack into her webcam or not. Stormy stuck around for Stan’s sake. Candice’s dorm was way too close to Reamer for comfort.

“This is so wrong,” Stormy said. “What if she’s changing clothes?”

“I have to check on her,” Stan said. “I have to know she’s okay.”

“And you’ve never done this before?” Stormy asked.

“Not to her,” Josh said.

“Look, the college is right behind Reamer,” Stan said. “I thought she was back home, but I guess she got in a fight with my mom and went back early.”

Purdy jumped in front of the screen. “She didn’t look like that before.”

“Purdy, what are you doing?” Stan asked. “Freaking move.”

“Leave it alone.”

“Oh, God,” Stormy said. “Is she changing?”

“Purdy, move,” Stan said. “I can’t see the screen.”

“You never listen.” Purdy slid back to his spot behind Josh’s chair. “Not even for your own good.”

The bathroom was right behind Candice. It was obviously her destination when she started to violently vomit up her insides. The blood trailed across the room to where she ultimately succumbed to the virus, right beneath a partially open window.              

Stan screamed at the computer. Josh tried to pull him away. Stan decked him. Ian reached over and got an equal measure of Stan’s fist.

Candice hovered by her bedroom door, rocking forward and back in tiny, disjointed movements.             

Stan screamed her name into the mic. Candice flinched. He screamed again.

“Come on, man. Look away,” Purdy said. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

With that, Candice banged her fist against the door. Blood smeared across a colorful poster as she dragged her fist downward. Undeterred, she pounded on the door again and again. It was locked on her side.

Every time he screamed her name, Candice’s only remaining need burned hotter. All he was doing was torturing them both. “Stan, you’re making this worse,” Stormy said. “You have to stop.”

Ian held Stan down so Josh could rip the laptop away and run. That’s when Stan lost it.

“Damn,” Purdy said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Fuck off.”

Stan never mentioned Candice again.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

DAYS UNTIL THE SUPERVIRUS GOES GLOBAL: 28:12:30

Purdy named the stray pit bull Killer. No one was sure why, but the name fit, so it stuck. Killer was very personable, but only had eyes for Purdy. Ian seemed the more likely choice of companion, given that he was stuck inside the house until his leg healed, but Killer preferred to follow Purdy everywhere he went. It only took one time of being stepped on for him to realize his reflexes had to be faster than Purdy’s and that he should keep at least a three foot following distance. Aside from phoning home, no one did anything beside sleep, watch the news, and play with Killer for the first two days at Aranchea. 

Everyone except for Stormy, whose inner project manager couldn’t wait to get going, no matter how sore she was. At least she had stopped bleeding internally. Stan looked her over closely and assured her that she only had a broken rib and bad lacerations. As long as she quit coughing and accepted that her neck would forever have slash marks across it, she would be perfectly fine. Even if she could’ve visited a doctor, she would have to wait the customary six to eight weeks for her rib to heal. The lacerations on her neck would transform into bright pink scars in their own time.

Grim, and growing grimmer, the news remained fixated on the outbreak at Reamer Towers. The day following the attack, shelters for displaced residents were set up. Since then, the locations were pushed back twice due to the ever expanding infected area. After the governor hit the ground, the airport shut down for all but military flights and an investigation was opened to determine who gave the order to allow military forces to conduct combat actions on U.S. soil. Cold World lay claim to more territory every day as the infected encroached on block after block of the safe zone. By the end of the second day, even the talking heads didn’t give a shit about the investigation anymore.

The medical professionals the news paraded across the television screen had Nostradamus like qualities. Crystal balls seemed more appropriate in their hands than scalpels. They spoke the truth when they said the Super-flu vaccine was killing off the children and elderly in droves, but couldn’t the news stations find more credible looking people to spread the message?

With the hospital ravaged, the news repeated shot after shot of litters blanketing the streets in front of a neighborhood clinic. The small facility became a transportation hub for patients to nearby hospitals. It lay on the barrier of the warm zone, just outside of the reach of the hot zone, which was a perfect circle surrounding Reamer Towers. If not stopped, this shabby clinic would become the principle cause of the world’s demise. Stormy shook her head at the television and hoped the governor or someone figured that out soon.

In the mean time, she scribbled away on a legal pad she had stolen from Ian. She started with the mundane things, chore rotations and meal preparations, but her mind remained fixated on the bigger plan. The people captured in the news footage all had concentrated agony imprinted across their faces. Their agony matched hers perfectly. Seconds after each face flashed across the screen, it took on steely features that made it a clone of Matt. It didn’t take much of that to make a chore rotation list a great distraction. On her third night at Aranchea, she had seen enough footage and felt her work worthy of a vote. She volunteered to make dinner as her first step toward buttering the guys up.

The pot didn’t stand a chance at simmering in peace. Every few seconds one hand or another lifted the lid, stirred the gumbo needlessly or sniffed at it. Stormy started early to afford the meal its due time and have something to plate by seven, but the smells wafting out of the kitchen had vultures lurking by quarter of six. The cheese and crackers disappeared as soon as she served them and now they were after anything else that looked consumable. To keep the masses at bay, she moved her knife from the cheese to French bread she had been saving to go with dinner.
Now is as good a time as any. I’ve got their attention.

She set the knife down and worried her cuticles as she spoke. “I’m going to make bread pudding in the morning.”

Purdy’s eyes flashed from the bread to her and then back. Before his eyes finished the trip, they brightened in time to the small smile that inched across his face.

“Oh, and there’s cherry pie for dessert.”

“How much longer?” Josh asked.

Her eyes never left her busy fingertips. “A while. But I could make tea or coffee. That should take the edge off.”

“I’ll get it.” Ian’s hands were in the coffee pot scooping out the used filter seconds later.

“So, I bet you all are sore too, huh?” she asked.

Ian poured water into the back of the brewer. “I’ve definitely felt better.”

She knew Ian wouldn’t be feeling too hot. It had taken Josh holding him down, Purdy threatening his life, and an assortment of tools from the shed for Stan to get the cast off his leg. By the end of the ordeal, Purdy really did want to kill him.

On the bright side, he was moving around again, just not for long distances. Stan expected a full recovery as long as he remained his sedentary self.

Coffee brewing to his standard, Ian snagged a piece of French bread and settled in next to Josh.

“Well, since no one is really up to physical training, I suppose we can put that off for a while.” She let that soak in for a moment and leveled her head slowly to covertly gauge their reactions.

Josh smacked the French bread right out of Ian’s hand. It flaked apart as it bounced across the floor, leaving a trail that Killer happily licked up.

“Don’t eat another bite,” Josh yelled. “She’s a kitchen Delilah.”

Purdy’s jaw dropped as he watched Killer swallow the bread whole. Everyone knew his rule about feeding Killer people food. Only he was allowed to do it, period. Purdy’s gaze rose slowly from the wagging tail at his feet to the heavyset figure standing next to Ian. The figure whose eyes told on him, told all about how he just wanted to disappear right now. To be the color of the cabinets, blending right in among the coffee cups and dinner plates. Purdy had developed a tolerance for Josh, but after two days of just sitting around here, Stormy could tell that he was getting an itchy trigger finger. Yet another reason she had to get them to work.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Stan asked.

Josh backed away from Purdy, all the way to other end of the countertop.

“She’s baiting us with tasty snacks,” Josh said.

“If she’s baiting anyone, it’s only you two,” Stan said. “The rest of us already signed up.”

Josh pointed to the simmering pot. “You’re in on this too?”

Stormy wanted to open her mouth, but something told her to ride this train out.

Purdy crossed his arms and lowered his chin. “So what’s your plan, eat up all my food and make a dent in my couch until the supers kill us all? Because if it is, I’ll end you myself.”

“I’m not denting your—”

“How involved do we have to be?” Ian asked.

“What do you mean how involved?” Stan asked.

“And I’ve been paying for the food,” Josh mumbled.

“I don’t want any direct contact that could be avoided, with Cold World or the law,” Ian said. “I’ll do whatever it is you need from here.”             

“You don’t have a choice,” Stan said. “You can’t be anywhere else until your leg heals.”             

“So what did you have in mind?” Ian’s lack of enthusiasm pervaded every word. “You still dead set on taking out Cold World?”

The timer went off. Stormy moved the pot off the heat. She left the cover off, letting the aroma escape its confines and fill their lungs. “That and more.”

“Oh wow, this is a disaster waiting to happen,” Josh said.

“There have to be others that can help,” Stormy said.

“Help take down Cold World and what?” Stan asked.

“Stop the supers.”

“No small feat,” Purdy said.

“We’re going to need stuff,” Ian said.

“I told you we are not going back for his stuff,” Purdy said.

“Well then, we’re going to need to get more stuff. How long do we have?”

“I can’t believe you’re going along with this,” Josh said.             

“You want to leave and hope Ian can hobble away from whatever trouble finds you?” Stan asked.

Ian looked at Josh. “Get with the program already. This is the only choice I find even remotely reasonable at this point.”

Josh groaned. His eyes lingered on the steaming pot. Stormy took the cue and promptly dished out the meal. Everyone was talking at once when the last bowl landed on the island with a clink.

“Ian, I need to talk to you, privately,” Josh said.

“There’s more if anyone wants seconds,” Stormy said.

“It’s going to have to wait,” Ian said. “I’m thinking right now.”

“I just need a minute,” Josh said.

“You eat a single bite before grace and we’re going to need to talk again,” Purdy said to Josh.

“You should listen to Ian and get with the program,” Stan said.

“Ian,” Josh said.

“I told you I’m thinking.”

“Anyone need salt and pepper?” Stormy said.

Purdy’s hands thumped the table. “I swear if you don’t shut up for grace I’m going to—”

Everyone shut up and bowed their heads.

“Lord, we want to thank you for this lovely meal before us, for my new dog Killer who brings joy to the home, and for one more day on this fine Earth. Amen.”

Purdy pointed his fork at Josh and held it there. Thirty seconds elapsed before he spoke. He squinted, but never blinked. “And if you feed my dog people food again, no one will ever really know what happened to you.”

And now the food had no taste.

“A lesson in manners mid-apocalypse,” Josh said. “Un-friggin’ believable.”

Ian thought through most of dinner. He was on his third bowl of gumbo when he spoke again. “Tell me again what you want to do, but this time be specific.”

“I want to find out when Cold World will attack again,” Stormy said.

“So you will also need to know where, I’m assuming.”

“Yes.”

“And what else?”

“I want to stop it from happening and find other people that will—”

Ian’s hand flew up in her direction. “One thing at a time.”

Stormy drooped and stared at her bowl. She took a deep breath and pushed her food around, waiting for a chance to get all this sorted out. There was so much to get on with. Going line by line like this was killing her. She knew she won. Josh wouldn’t set foot outside this house on his own and Ian had already seen the light.

Ian pushed his bowl away and leaned on his elbows. “I’m going to need Josh here with me to do this.”

Stormy looked at Josh and smiled a plea. Josh’s eyes dodged hers and redirected to Ian.

“I’m going to have to move money, chase leads, and build comms,” Ian said. “Not to mention research from multiple angles to find these guys. What you’re talking about could take a team of trained professionals years to do and my guess is that we have less than . . . well when was the last attack, Josh?”

“A month ago.”

“We have weeks. It can’t all be done, but it’s definitely not going to get done without him.” Ian’s fists remained under his chin while his index fingers pointed at his best friend.

“Do you even know how to do all of that?” Stan’s tone was quizzical. Ian picked up on it before taking offense.

“My old job taught me the basics. My freelance work made me an expert. But none of that makes it go any faster or become any cheaper.”

Stan leaned over the table toward Stormy. “Are you planning to attack them?”

“I thought that was a decision for all of us.”

“We shouldn’t make any decisions without intel,” Purdy said.

“Well if you are, I’m going to need money too,” Stan said. “The next bullet may not miraculously miss everything that’s important.”

“My leg is offended that you believe parts of it are unimportant,” Ian said.

Stormy shifted her glance to Purdy. “I’m sure you’re going to need funds too.”

“Girl, I’m going to need to clean you out.” Purdy laughed. “I’m assuming my brand of expertise makes me the weapons and tactics guy. I need more than Killer on this perimeter. Plus, if we end up going in guns blazing . . . well, before we even go there, do we have any money?”

“We shouldn’t even be talking like this if we don’t,” Stan said.

“If we pool our resources, we’ll know for sure,” Stormy said.

              Josh locked eyes with Ian, right before Ian’s finger went up over his lips and he mouthed “ssshh.”

“Well what are you going to be doing?” Stan asked. “What’s your expertise, Stormy?”

“This.” Stormy pointed to the legal pad. “I’m a project manager in the real world.”

Five brains trailed off, making the kitchen quiet for the first time all night. The only one in the same disposition he had been in before dinner was Killer, who sat grinning at Purdy’s feet.